


Heal These Bones

by DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor/pseuds/DiaryofaMadTheaterMajor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is the victim of a hate crime. It affects the Amis and the seed of revenge is planted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            “Who would do this to him? I mean, of all people.” Eponine said breaking the silence in the hospital room. No one else said anything, they looked down at the battered body of Jehan lying in the bed. “Jehan is the sweetest person on earth. He’d never hurt anyone...well, unless provoked.” She added.

            “Well, it looks like he put up a fight.” Bousset remarked.

            The small group parted when Cosette walked into the room followed by Marius. She gasped when she saw Jehan, “Oh no. Oh God.” She grabbed the poet’s limp hand, a tear fell from her eye. Marius put a hand on Cosette’s shoulder.

            “Don’t worry, whoever did this is going to pay.” Eponine promised.

            “Who did it?”

            “I think it was Montparnasse and his little droogs.” Enjolras said from his chair across the room.

            “Montparnasse is an asshole, but he’d never—“

            Enjolras held up his hand to interrupt Eponine, “You’re talking about the boy who was in juvenile hall for six years for robbing and beating innocent people. What makes you think that he wouldn’t hurt Jehan?” Ejolras asked.

            “Because he—“

            “There’s no justification. I don’t care if he gave all his possessions to the poor! You do not hurt Jehan and get away with it!” Enjolras stood up, his jaw clenched. “Jehan hasn’t done anything to anyone out of malice. He’s beat people up out of his protection. This was the work of Montparnasse and his friends.” Enjolras stood up and grabbed his red jacket.

            “Where are you going?” Eponine asked.

            Enjolras headed towards the door, Combeferre pressed his hand to Enjolras’ shoulder. “E, it’s not worth it. If you get him they’re going to come back for one of us. This isn’t the—“

            “And what is? To let him go unpunished?”

            “We can call the police.”

            “I don’t want the police! I want the son of a bitch punished.” Enjolras growled.

            “I second that!” Bahorel exclaimed from the corner.

            “Petty revenge won’t solve anything!” Cosette said.

            The boys looked at her, “Look, Combeferre’s right. Let’s call the police. They’re probably looking for him already.” She reasoned.

            They boys realized she was right, and kept their vigil. At about three, they were brought out of their stupor by the tap of Joly’s cane. It was hard for them to see Joly’s usual smile replaced by a worried look. He looked at his friends and then at Jehan whose chest was slowly rising and falling. “Hey guys, you should get going. It’s way past visiting hours. You’ve been here long enough.” He said with a tinge of sadness.

            The friends said their goodbyes to Jehan and walked out of the room. Courfeyrac was the last to leave, “I’ll be out in a second.” He said to Marius. He knelt beside the bed and touched the poet’s hand. “I should’ve said this to you earlier because you deserve to know. Jehan, I love you so much.” He kissed the poet’s hand as a tear slid down his face. He sniffed and wiped the tear away, “Please get better.” He stood and looked at Joly, “He’s going to get better right?”

            Joly patted the lover’s shoulder, “Based on his injuries, he’s going to have to go to some physical therapy for his legs. He’s broken a few ribs, and there are bruises on his body. He’s gotten stitches for the wound in his head. It’s going to be a rough recovery, but at least he’ll have you and everyone else there for him.” Joly said a faint smile came on his face as he put his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder.

            “Can I stay here?”

            “Yes, but as your best friend, I’d recommend you go home and get some sleep.” Joly’s face was serious.

            Courfeyrac nodded and walked out, “Night, Joly.”

            “Night Courf.”

            Courfeyrac walked with Marius and Cosette in silence towards the elevator.

 

                                                _Five Hours Earlier_

            “I’m telling you, Apollo. Ramen doesn’t count as dinner.” Grantaire pointed out.

            “Neither does a bottle of vodka, but we’ve both gotten by on that. Where’s Jehan? He’s usually punctual. This isn’t like him.” Enjolras said from the couch. He looked at his phone, Jehan’s text of ‘On my way’ was half an hour old.

            “He’s probably stopped at some florist’s shop and is smelling flowers and writing poems about them.”

            “He wouldn’t be late to watch Game of Thrones, he lives for this show.” Enjolras said. He looked out the window, it was dark.

            “He only lives five minutes away.”

            Enjolras’ cellphone rang, it was Jehan. He answered the phone, “Hey where are you?”

            There was silence, a sob answered Enjolras. “Help...me.” Jehan’s voice was broken and he was struggling to speak. He sounded in pain.

            Enjolras sat up, “Jehan, where are you?”

            There a silence, “A...alley be...between the bars.” Jehan yelped in pain and another sob echoed.

            “Which bars?” Jehan didn’t answer. “Jehan? Jean!” Enjolras’ hands were shaking.  He stood up, “Jehan’s hurt. I don’t know where he is but we have to get him.”

            Grantaire straightened up, “What? He’s hurt? What happened?”

            “I don’t know, he didn’t say.” Enjolras grabbed his red jacket and sprinted out the door, Grantaire followed him.

            They searched for almost an hour until Enjolras looked down at the sidewalk and found a broken white flower. His stomach lurched when he saw red spots on the petals. He and Grantaire walked into the alleyway and Enjolras stopped dead in his path.

            Jehan was lying on the ground, his hair was out of it’s braid and flower petals were scattered around the floor. Jehan’s green sweater was torn at the sleeves. Jehan had blood coming out of his nose and there were bruises around his neck. His right eye was black and swollen shut. There was a large gash running from the center of his forehead to the side of his head. Lying a few feet away was his journal, torn to shreds. “Call an ambulance, R.”

            “Jehan, oh my God.”

            “CALL THEM!” Enjolras screamed suddenly. Grantaire cringed but nodded and walked out of the alley. The blonde knelt besides the crumpled poet, “Jehan?” Jehan didn’t move, it didn’t look like he was breathing. Enjolras pressed a finger to Jehan’s neck, there was a pulse but it was slow. “Jehan? Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Enjolras’ voice was shaking. He bit his lip, a tear fell down his face. He clenched his fists and took a breath.

            “They’re on their way.” Grantaire’s voice said from the mouth of the alley. Enjolras pulled the cynic into a hug, “He’s going to be safe.” Grantaire promised hugging Enjolras back.

            Five minutes later, Jehan was placed onto a stretcher and driven to the hospital. The gang was called and they were at the hospital almost as soon as Enjolras hung up the phone.

            _“I can take care of myself, Enjolras_. _” Jehan had said as Enjolras wiped a scratch on the poet’s cheek._

_Enjolras looked at Jehan, “I know. I just—“_

_“I appreciate this, Enj. I do. It’s just, you’re not always going to be there for me.”_

_“You’re my best friend, Jehan. I’ll be there whenever you need me.”_

_“Even if it’s three in the morning.”_

_The blonde paused before answering, “As long as you buy breakfast the next morning.”_

_Jehan held up his right hand, “Promise.”_

_They chuckled, Enjolras cleaned the dirt off of Jehan’s face. “Who was it this time?” His voice was serious._

_Jehan’s face darkened, he shrugged._

_“Jean.” Enjolras grabbed Jehan’s shoulders. “Tell me.”_

_“Calvin Jones.” Jehan mumbled._

_Enjolras nodded stiffly and finished dressing Jehan’s cuts. The next afternoon, Enjolras pinned Calvin against the lockers and got suspended for beating the shit out of Calvin._

            Enjolras thought about his high school days as he sat in the waiting room. Grantaire gently squeezed his hand.

 

                                                _Now_

            Courfeyrac’s bed seemed larger without Jehan in it. Courfeyrac looked across the empty bed wishing the Jehan would appear and that this whole thing was a dream. Jehan’s pillow smelt like his shampoo, and flowers. Courfeyrac held the pillow to his chest and began to cry.

 

            Enjolras stared up at the ceiling, unable to get the image of Jehan, gentle Jehan, lying in the alleyway. He turned onto his side and draped his arm across Grantiare’s chest, and put his head on Grantaire shoulder. He felt the cynic’s arm wrap around him, he buried his face in the fabric of Grantaire’s T-shirt and let out a sob.

            Marius stared at the cup of coffee that Cosette had made him, in the other room, he could hear Courfeyrac crying. Cosette looked at Marius, concerned. She reached across the table and took his hand. A comforting smile on her face.

 

            Eponine and Bahorel chased their shot of vodka with a sip of Sprite. “Another?” Bahorel asked.

            “You know the answer already.” She held out the glass.

            The glasses were refilled, Eponine raised her glass as did Bahorel, “To Jehan.” They both said and poured the clear liquid into their mouths.

 

            Combeferre’s eyes were tired from staring at the page of the book he wasn’t reading. He looked up at the door as it opened, Joly came in and hung his jacket on the rack. He leaned his cane against the wall, he turned and jumped and pressed his hand to his chest. “’Ferre, I thought you’d be asleep.” Joly said tenderly.

            “Can’t sleep.”

            Joly nodded, “Come to bed. You need sleep. We all do.” Joly touched Combeferre’s arm.

            “I wanted to go with them tonight. To get Montparnasse.”

            Joly shot Combeferre a look of concern, “’Ferre—“

            “I know. It’s just—I was so angry. I couldn’t believe that someone could do this to Jehan. I wanted revenge.”

            “Revenge will come, trust me, revenge is like an illness.” Joly shuddered, “It spreads and it is never cured, just sated.” Joly pressed a kiss to the tip of Combeferre’s nose, getting a smile in return.

            “Feeling okay?” Combeferre asked as Joly examined his tongue in the mirror.

            “Yes.” Joly smiled wearily.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

            Combeferre nodded, turned off the reading lamp and followed Joly into the bedroom.

 

            “Ow, damn.” Boussuet said examining his finger. As he had entered his apartment, a random shard of wood jabbed his finger. There was no blood, just a small splinter. He shut the door behind him, Feuilly sat on the couch, a soccer match between Poland and Spain was on but Feuilly wasn’t watching it.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come tonight. Work. I got assigned a late shift as I was walking in.” Boussuet sat next to his boyfriend on the couch and placed a hand on Feuilly’s knee.

            “It’s fine.” His hand covered Boussuet’s.

            “How is he?”

            Feuilly sighed, “He should be fine, he’ll pull through. He looks horrible though. I can’t believe someone did this to him.” He turned the TV off.

            Boussuet put his arm around Feuilly who leaned his head against his shoulder.

 

            Eventually, the rest of the Amis went to sleep, all waiting for the next morning to see Jehan.


	2. Chapter 2

The Musain was quiet the next evening, several times the owner came up the rickety stairs and checked on the Amis to see if they were there. They sat at the large table, Enjolras paced back and forth in front of the window. He tried to focus his gaze on the street rather than Jehan’s potted plants. The only sound was Enjolras’ footsteps on the floorboards, he looked at the silent group who looked back at him.

            “When are we going to get Montparnasse?” Bahorel asked.

            “I don’t know. I’m debating actually going after him.”

            “What? Enjolras!” Bahorel exclaimed.

            Enjolras shook his head, “You think I don’t want to? I want to bash all of his teeth out. I want him behind bars along with his friends. I want them to pay!”

            “Then why are we sitting here?” Bahorel asked.

            “I don’t know.” Enjolras stopped pacing and looked at the potted plants on the balcony.

            _“Jehan, what are you doing?” Enjolras had asked the summer before. The Musain was terribly hot. Enjolras had thrown open the balcony doors and opened the windows. Jehan’s arms and shirt were caked with dirt. He set down another pot that had three pink tulip bulbs in bloom._

_“I thought the Musain could use some beauty.”_

_“The Musain is where we all meet, not appreciate beauty.” Enjolras crossed his arms across his chest._

_“We can do both.” Jehan patted Enjolras’ cheek as he wiped the dirt off of his hands._

_Later that night, Jehan and Grantaire caught Enjolras sniffing the tulips._

            Enjolras turned from the window and walked down the stairs without a word. Grantaire stood up and followed him out of the café. “Enjolras—“

            “Go back upstairs, R. I’m going to do this myself.”

            “You can face four guys by yourself.” Grantaire crossed his arms across his chest.

            “I only want one of them.” Enjolras continued down the street.

            “Do you even know where to find him?” Grantaire asked.

            “Yes. Grantaire go back.”

            “No. I’m helping you with this.”

            “Do you even know how to fight?”

            “I can improvise.” Grantaire cracked a smile. They stopped at the crosswalk, Enjolras rolled his eyes and sighed. Grantaire put his arm around the blonde, the light turned green and they crossed the street. Enjolras, halfway down the block, put his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.

            Enjolras’ arm fell as did Grantaire’s when they got to the bar where Montparnasse and his friends frequented. Enjolras took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

 

            Jehan’s good eye fluttered open, he looked to see Courfeyrac asleep in a chair next to the bed. Jehan smiled, sat up and winced. He looked at his reflection in the mirror across from the bed, his eye was still swollen shut and there was gauze on his forehead. He looked around for a comb or a brush but he didn’t find one. He reached for the plastic fork that sat on the table next to his bed and ran it through his hair. It wasn’t as effective as a brush but it did the trick. Jehan braided his hair and placed three roses into the braid.

            Courfeyrac woke up with a start, “Bad dream?” Jehan asked pleasantly. He pressed a button and the part of the bed where Jehan was laying rose up. Jehan laid down, it was easier to look at Courfeyrac this way.

            “Yeah. A bit. I love the braid.” He smiled.

            “Thank you, I just did it. Did you get these roses?”

            “No, Feuilly did.”

            “I love them.”

            Courfeyrac pressed his lips to Jehan’s. “How’re you feeling?”            

            “Everything hurts. I want to be back in our bed.” Jehan said sadly.

            Courfeyrac squeezed Jehan’s hand gently. “I want you back there too.”

            “I love you Courfeyrac.” Jehan said.

            Courfeyrac kissed Jehan deeply, “I love you too. So much.” Courfeyrac said.

           

            The fight was going well, luckily, Montparnasse was alone. “You’re going to apologize to Jehan or I will murder you.” Enjolras growled pinning Montparnasse against the table, his arm twisted around his back.

            “The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t kill the little faggot!” Montparnasse shouted.

            Enjolras let go of Montparnasse’s arm, and the boy stood up. His nose had been broken, and his lip cut. Enjolras punched him in the jaw, Montparnasse slammed against the table. Enjolras grabbed a tuft of Montparnasse’s hair and slammed his head hard against the table. Montparnasse collapsed to the ground, Enjolras kicked him in the gut and then in the ribs until there was a _crack_.

            Montparnasse was trying to gasp for breath, “Enj, let’s go.” Grantaire urged.

            “Hold on. One more thing.” Enjolras kicked Montparnasse hard in the groin. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and lowered his voice, “You hurt Jehan, or any one of my friends and it’ll be the last thing you’ll do. I will find you and make you pay. I’ll break every goddamn bone in your body. This is your last warning.” He pushed the boy onto the ground.

            Enjolras, whose knuckles were bleeding and was pretty sure his wrists was sprained, walked out with Grantaire into the night.

 

            Less than a week later, Jehan was released from the hospital. He was greeted at their apartment by all of his friends. After being passed around and hugged gently. He gave Enjolras a hug, “I heard about what you did. Thank you.” Jehan said. Enjolras pressed his lips to the crown of Jehan’s head.

            “Anything for a friend.” Enjolras said.


End file.
